


On Lipstick and World Endings; an examination

by Quecksilver_Eyes



Series: Narnia Musings [40]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, and clings to it with the desparation of a survivor, and how it manifests in lipstick and nylons, and petticoats, in which a Queen gaslights herself, in which susan muses on the end of her world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 10:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21252179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/pseuds/Quecksilver_Eyes
Summary: Here is how the world ends:In front of a tree and a trembling people, the Telmarine king with his tear stained neck, Edmund’s back tensed and straight, Peter’s arm on Lucy’s shoulder and Lucy; swollen eyes and swollen lips and her cheeks all wet. And you – too old now for your world. It has kept on turning without you, see. There’s a dragon’s skeleton rotting in a riverbed and a mouse who was raised on nursery rhymes; of you, oh Queen of Narnia. Are you not proud? Save us, then go back. We don’t need you anymore.





	On Lipstick and World Endings; an examination

Here is how the world ends:

In the woods, around a lamp post that burns, still, Edmund’s lips a soft smile, Lucy’s mouth shrieking laughter, curiosity pulling and pulling her through woods, through coats, through wardrobe doors into the dampness of a world none of you can remember.

In front of a tree and a trembling people, the Telmarine king with his tear stained neck, Edmund’s back tensed and straight, Peter’s arm on Lucy’s shoulder and Lucy; swollen eyes and swollen lips and her cheeks all wet. And you – too old now for your world. It has kept on turning without you, see. There’s a dragon’s skeleton rotting in a riverbed and a mouse who was raised on nursery rhymes; of you, oh Queen of Narnia. Are you not proud? Save us, then go back. We don’t need you anymore.

This is how the world ends: Lucy and Edmund are in England, miserable. You sit in front of a mirror and paint your lips, your eyes, the longing caught in your ribcage and the ache in your knuckles. The fashion is different here; retire your corsets and your petticoats, your braids and your curls. Instead, straighten your hair until it doesn’t feel like yours, curl it again, loosely, precisely and fashionable. Wear girdles; they dig into your waist and leave angry, screaming marks, red as Edmund’s blood on your fingers. Wear the bra too, pay no mind to the boys’ eyes, all on your chest, all on your legs. The fabrics are brighter here, the seams machinery perfection.

Here’s a list of things you shouldn’t do:

  * Don’t keep a diary. It will be inconsistent and full of phrases you don’t recognise, the alcohol will make your hands tremble and your words stumble and – don’t read it.  
  

  * Don’t sleep. You will have nightmares. Of a lion with his claws in you and your siblings, his fangs bared, Lucy; blood red and iron stained, eight years old with a dagger at a minotaur’s throat. Of the witch; pale and white and tall, and terrible too, with her eyes like steel, her hands like needles in your little brother, spelled and starving, with all the world’s venom dripping from his lips. Don’t stay in bed. Don’t call your brother, don’t write your siblings, don’t tell your parents. Don’t take up space, don’t let your dreams fill up the space between you and the little ones. They are an ocean and a world away – it’s no use.  
  

  * Don’t think about the girl who works in the hotel lobby, answering phones and connecting them with a smile, her voice a smooth wonderful thing. Don’t think about her eyes, dark as a starless night, don’t think about her smile. Instead, put on your dress and curl your hair, and drink what the party offers – wake up in a faceless boy’s bed.  
  

  * Don’t stay for breakfast.  
  

  * Don’t pick up archery. You will touch the bow and the arrows, expect callouses and scars this body never had. You will hit the center of the target with the ease of a woman who spent her childhood with an arrow between her knuckles.  
  

  * Don’t cry.  
  

  * Don’t go back. All that expects you is a war and _fix us, oh Queen of Narnia, save us all, again_ and prayers to the hollowed out statue Miraz could never destroy. When Narnia pulls at your bones, creaking and groaning and straining for help, remember the lion and your horn, remember the deity they’ve turned you into.  
  

  * Don’t go back. This call is for the Gentle Queen, not this woman you’re growing into. No one needs you, crying and swaying and with a run in your nylons.

And when your siblings, your cousin, your loves, get on a train that will take them back home, paint your lips cherry red, smile and kiss them goodbye.

Peter says: “We will come back”, with his eyes storm clouded and his hair spun gold the way it never is in this world. Edmund says nothing, and Lucy; wonderful, small, shrieking Lucy, cries until the collar of her dress is dark with it all.

Tell them goodbye. Kiss their cheeks. Walk away.

_(The girl with the night eyes smiles at you. Smile back. She looks familiar, and don’t you want to know her laughter? Come on, Susan. Walk away and into this world. Bring lilies to their graves and roses to this girl. Watch her smile.)_


End file.
